


6 easy steps to confessing to your long-time crush

by euphemea



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Sylvain Jose Gautier Being An Idiot, implied dorogrid, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:08:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23422954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euphemea/pseuds/euphemea
Summary: Sylvain can feel a bit of heat in his cheeks and sweat on his palms. Felix’s blank look doesn’t help with either of those, and the longer the emptiness stretches, the worse he feels.Clearly, this was a mistake. Luckily, Sylvain planned this so there’s an easy out.“Uh, April Fools!” Sylvain forces out a laugh, bringing a hand up to rub against the back of his unfortunately-heated neck. Just play it off, nice and easy. Nothing but a joke.Or, Sylvain fake-but-not-really confesses on April Fools. Now he's gotta figure out how to pick up the pieces.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 41
Kudos: 318





	6 easy steps to confessing to your long-time crush

**Author's Note:**

> this is a crackfic that grew feelings? i have no excuse.

#### step 1. do it wrong

“Hey, Felix? I like you. Go out with me?”

Sylvain is completely casual as he says it, no wavering in his voice to betray the escalating pounding in his chest, his words topped with the perfect amount of grin and carelessness. He’s been waiting for the perfect moment all afternoon (and maybe trying to work up the nerve); Felix grinning victoriously after spiking him off the Battlefield stage with Greil-costumed Ike is probably as good as it’s going to get.

He lets his controller rest in his lap as he turns to Felix and waits. 

It’s dead silent.

Felix stares back at Sylvain, jaw slightly slack and eyes wide. He’s not glaring, which would normally be a good sign, but he’s also not saying anything, which honestly might be more terrifying than if Felix was pulling out his kendo sword to whack Sylvain on the head (Sylvain still hasn’t figured out why he likes to carry it around).

It’s quiet enough that Sylvain’s pretty sure he can hear the whirring of the Fraldarius family’s fridge downstairs in the kitchen. 

Felix blinks and opens his mouth, but nothing makes its way out. 

Sylvain can feel a bit of heat in his cheeks and sweat on his palms. Felix’s blank look doesn’t help with either of those, and the longer the emptiness stretches, the worse he feels.

Clearly, this was a mistake. Luckily, Sylvain _planned_ this so there’s an easy out.

“Uh, April Fools!” Sylvain forces out a laugh, bringing a hand up to rub against the back of his unfortunately-heated neck. Just play it off, nice and easy. Nothing but a joke. “Did you take it seriously? Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to freak you out.”

Now Felix scowls. It’s endearing—the frowning pout, the scrunched-up eyebrows, the grumpy hunch to his shoulders—and Sylvain’s heart squeezes, a little. He’d wanted the confession to be real, to be more than just a bad prank, but he should have known that Felix wouldn’t react well. It had always been too much to hope that Felix’s familiarity with him could ever extend past friendship.

Sylvain brings his hands up, ready to catch the inevitable jab to his gut. 

It doesn’t come. 

“If that’s your idea of a joke, it’s not very funny.” Felix’s voice is barely above a whisper, but it rings out, loud and cold. 

“Yeah… Sorry, guess I didn’t think it through.” 

“You didn’t.” Felix isn’t looking at Sylvain, but anger radiates off him in waves so intense they’re almost visible. Sylvain barely represses a wince. He’d always known Felix could kill him with little more than his bare fists, but somewhere in his infatuation-mottled mind, he’d forgotten how sharp the edge to Felix’s words could be. 

“Hah… I know you don’t like April Fools jokes, so this was just. A stupid idea.” Sylvain’s smile is pinned sharply in place, and it pulls uncomfortably where it contorts his face. “Sorry, Fe, really didn’t mean to make you mad.” 

Felix grunts at the nickname, and his eyes drop to his lap, gaze unreadable. 

Sylvain shrugs a shoulder, forcing his eyes back to the TV. “Another match? I swear I’m finally going to beat you this time.”

Felix stands abruptly. “No, I’m going to go practice my forms, and then I have to talk to Annette about a physics problem set. You should leave.” 

He walks out without looking back, and the angry line of his ramrod posture echoes jeeringly. The temperature of the room drops behind him.

Sylvain slumps, head dropping heavily against the back of the couch. 

Well, that went _great_.

#### step 2. complain about how you did it wrong

“That’s just about the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. You _know_ Felix—there was no way he was going to take that well.” 

Ingrid steals another of Sylvain’s fries, exasperation audible around the loud smack of her chewing. It’s gross, but somehow heartwarming in that way only watching Ingrid eat can be. 

Sylvain smiles fondly at her, and she rolls her eyes as she takes another fry.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I just—I _know_ what people being into me looks like, and—”

“I don’t _care_ —”

“—I don’t _think_ I was wrong, but then he just clammed up when I said it, and I had to backpedal.” Sylvain takes a sad bite out of his now-slightly-cold burger. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t have said it in the first place! You know Felix doesn’t like being put on the spot. He can’t process his own emotions, let alone yours.” 

“I just thought—I don’t know. I obviously wasn’t thinking.” Sylvain takes another dejected bite. He can see where Ingrid traces the motion, clearly still hungry even after polishing off her own double-patty. “I guess I thought there was a chance it could work out. Obviously I was wrong.”

Ingrid stares at him, dead-eyed. “You were thinking with your dick again.”

“Hey, I do _not_ thi—okay, I mean, fine, I _do_ —,” Ingrid continues to stare, clearly unimpressed. “—but not with Felix!” 

Felix deserves better than that, from anyone, but especially from Sylvain, and he knows it. It feels kind of ridiculous and stupid to classify his feelings for Felix as “love”, but there’s nothing else he can possibly call it. The sun would stop shining and his world would ice over if Felix wasn’t in it.

“Sure.” The disbelief in Ingrid’s voice stings. 

“I mean, even if I did, which I _don’t_ , Glenn would murder me.”

“I’d help him,” Ingrid adds, unhelpfully.

Sylvain pouts. “I’m hurt. You never side with me.”

“You don’t need me to.”

“Okay, yeah, fair.” Sylvain drops his burger back into its box and slumps forward onto the table. “Still, Ingy—”

“ _Don’t_ call me that, how many—”

“—why do I like him? It’s not fair how hot Felix is when he’s mad.”

Ingrid wrinkles her nose. “Hell if I know.” It’s a common point of contention: Ingrid claims Felix looks like a drowned cat, and Sylvain thinks his smile could make flowers bloom in the dead of winter. He’s right, of course.

She takes another fry and dips it aggressively in ketchup.

“It’s not fair—”

“—how, ugh, _attractive_ you think Felix is. Yes, I know, you’ve said. So many times. Too many times.”

“I just want to make Felix happy.”

“Then stop treating your relationship with him as a joke. He’ll take it seriously when you take it seriously.”

Ouch. Sylvain really doesn’t need Ingrid’s relationship lecture again, so: “You know, Ingrid, it really is soothing to watch you eat.”

She takes another fry. “You’re deflecting.” 

“Yeah, but you love me, so you’re going to let me.” Sylvain props his chin on his arms and gives her a crooked grin.

“Fine, but I want the rest of your fries.” As if Sylvain hadn’t ordered them for her anyway.

Sylvain pushes her the basket and she digs in. He sighs, resigned to sulking silently. Ingrid pats his arm consolingly with her free hand, far too used to Sylvain’s pining to do more than munch happily away on the remains of his lunch.

He pointedly ignores the empty space to his left where Felix should be sitting.

#### step 2a. try to fix things, sort of

Sylvain unlocks his phone for what has to be the fifth time in the last fifteen minutes. Still no new messages. Habit has him opening his messaging app before he even realizes what he’s doing. The text Ingrid had made him send stares accusingly back at him.

> **me:** we never did complete that smash tourney. you want to finish it sometime? maybe tonight?

It’s only been a few hours since he sent it. Maybe Felix is busy. He’ll probably reply to it later. 

Or he might not, because it’s Felix.

Whatever. They’ll be fine. They’ve been through rough patches in their friendship before, and it’s always come out stronger.

So why does it feel like, this time, something’s shifted for the worse?

#### step 3. complain some more

Dorothea holds up a hand to stop Sylvain before he can speak, the other waving impatiently for her drink. 

“Coffee first, hun.”

Sylvain pouts but hands her the tall, lidded plastic cup, shuffling into the hard café chair as she takes and examines it for mistakes in the order. Apparently, it’s satisfactory, because she drinks from it without complaint.

“’Thea, I need—”

“Ah, ah, ah! _Coffee_ ,” she repeats, rattling the iced drink. She sips in small, methodical measures of caffeine and chocolate syrup, slurping loudly every time Sylvain starts to open his mouth. 

Sylvain huffs but leans back in the chair, bringing his own chai latte to his lips. It’s too hot against his tongue, the spices covered by the pure pain of the ungodly overheated water, but he forces down a small gulp as Dorothea ignores him. She’s scrolling her phone and smiling at something he can’t see; he wouldn’t put it past her to purposely spite him, but she’s earned the right with how obnoxious his date propositions used to be, so he waits. 

After a few silent minutes without any sign that Dorothea intends to finish her drink faster or so much as deign to look at Sylvain, he sighs and shoves his hand into his pocket to fish out his own phone. Two can play at this game. Specifically, Love Live School Idol Festival—not that two people _can_ play a rhythm game together without disastrous consequences, but it’s fine, he can wait out Dorothea ignoring him. 

Sylvain’s halfway through humming along to a silent Snow Halation playthrough when Dorothea finally speaks up.

“Sylvie,” she says, despite knowing that Sylvain _hates_ the nickname because Miklan used to use it to mock him, “what did you do this time?”

Sylvain’s grip on his phone slips and it clatters heavily to the table. The notes continue to fly past the screen, and he gives up this run as a bad job. He’d only been replaying the song to pass the time anyway, though he’s sure he’ll regret it later when he actually needs to grind the current event. He’ll have to make it up to Nico later. Her new UR isn’t going to be around to scout much longer.

“ _Why_ did I have to do something wrong? Can’t I just want to hang out with my darling friend Dorothea?”

“You texted me with, and I quote, ‘I fucked up big time,’ followed by ‘HELP’ in all caps and like, ten Ps.” 

Okay, yeah, that might have happened. Sylvain doesn’t specifically _recall_ it happening, but he’d been so upset after Felix had kicked him out in the middle of their Smash tournament that he’d probably texted a good half dozen different people with varying levels of “fuck”. 

Dorothea had replied immediately with something along the lines of “you owe me coffee!! and none of the cheap stuff, i know you can afford it.” Sylvain hadn’t been able to argue with that, so here they were at Dorothea’s favorite coffee shop, two days later and $8 worth of iced coffee poorer. The attached bakery that sells pastries for about $6 each. He’ll probably have to ply her with a few as thanks for listening to his problems. 

“Well, the thing is—Firstly, remember that Felix is Felix so—”

“Yes, I know.”

“So, that means it can be hard to read what he’s thinking sometimes, because he doesn’t always say what he means, but he always means well—”

“Oh goddess, Sylvain, just tell me what happened.” She shakes her head and takes a long sip from her coffee. “We’ll be here all day if you go on about how hot you think Felix’s flat ass is the most attractive thing you’ve ever seen, or how his unwashed hair somehow glistens in the right lighting. It’s gross. He’s gross, and your crush on him is gross.”

Sylvain splutters. He grabs his no-longer-scalding latte to mirror her, and winces when the warm liquid hits his previously-burned tongue. “It’s not gross. And stop siding with Ingrid, she’s—”

“—a repressed lesbian, yes, I know, I’m working on it. She’s right about Felix though.”

She is absolutely not. Neither Ingrid nor Dorothea are right about Felix, who is undeniably and unjustly attractive, like the goddess created Felix specifically to spurn Sylvain’s every sensibility about what could be considered beautiful, but Sylvain knows a losing argument when he sees one. 

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say.” 

Dorothea rolls her eyes, but doesn’t interrupt. 

This is the hard part. He’d been planning on building up to his explanation, on clarifying where he could—but Dorothea, darling, haughty Dorothea, had thrown that plan straight into the trash, and now he could only stumble his way through a retelling of his (admittedly very dumb in hindsight) mistake. 

“I, hmm,” Sylvain clears his throat, “I might have told, uh, Felix that… that I like him.” 

The last few words are mumbled, infinitely more embarrassing under Dorothea’s judgmental gaze than repeated to Ingrid’s exasperated ears. 

“Just—just laid it out there when I was at his place on the first. I mean, you know that I’ve wanted to for a while. So I just said it. But he—he just kind of went silent? Like, blank. And because he didn’t say anything,” Sylvain coughs again, “I—I maybe played it off as an April Fools prank?”

There’s a resounding empty beat when he finishes. Sylvain stares down at the half-finished drink in his hand. The silence is broken when Dorothea chuckles, small and against closed lips, and Sylvain looks up, wounded. 

“Goddess, it’s even worse hearing it from you than when Ingrid told me last night.” 

“She told you?” Dorothea raises an eyebrow. “Okay, yeah, of course she told you. Goddess, _fuck_ , warn a guy.” 

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t think you screwed up as badly as Ingrid does. You can still fix this, you just have to be honest with your feelings.”

“Hey, I’m always honest.”

“Right, and I’m the queen.”

Sylvain grimaces. “Not sure I like that image, and I feel like Dimitri would have something to say about it too.” 

“Sylvie, don’t distract. You texted me because you need help digging yourself out of your hole with Felix and I’m telling you: go get him. Goddess knows it’s a better use of your time than repeating to me how hot you think his three pairs of ripped, black skinny-jeans are.” 

“He has four pairs now.” The newest ones had been a gift from Glenn, and they really accentuate Felix’s hips and legs. 

“ _Sylvain_. I do not care. Just tell him how you feel and be sincere about it.”

“I… I don’t know if I can do that. I don’t want him to feel like he _has_ to go out with me, you know? We’ve been friends for so long, I don’t want to ruin it.”

“It’s a little late for that.” Dorothea hums and idly stirs the ice left behind in her drink. “If you can’t go back, you have to move forward.”

“Huh, that almost sounds poetic.”

“Ugh, whatever. Sylvie, I’m just telling you like I’ve told you for years: you can’t give in to the temptation to take the easy way out. You can’t just blame Felix for not being good at communication, and you can’t assume that you always know what he’s thinking.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I hear you.”

“Good. Now go get me a couple of those pain au chocolat, rich boy.”

Sylvain pushes himself to his feet, making sure to audibly grumble. “Your wish is my command, my lady.” 

Dorothea huffs fondly and waves him off. “Two of them, and another iced coffee.”

#### step 3a. maybe freak out a bit

Okay, so Sylvain is starting to lose it. Just a little. 

Maybe he should text Felix again. Maybe that last message got lost. Maybe Felix forgot to reply. No harm in a friendly reminder.

Except Felix is just as likely not replying because he doesn’t want to talk. Felix gets like that, avoiding his problems and icing out whatever’s annoying him, just pushing and pushing until he can’t get hurt anymore. It’s hard to tell what’s going on in his mind through, you know, a complete communication blackout, but Sylvain can’t be the only one who misses his friend. His best friend. 

Even if it’s only been three days since the last time they spoke. Sure, dating rules say not to text again if they haven’t texted back, especially at only a few days, but Felix is Sylvain’s _best friend_ , and they’re not dating, so those rules don’t apply. 

Dorothea had said to go get him. That’s what Sylvain is doing, right?

Before he can doubt himself any more, Sylvain fires off another two messages.

> **me:** hey, are u ok, fe? i know ur tired of my dumb shit.
> 
> **me:** text me back when ur free?

#### step 4. get chewed out by his other other best friend

Sylvain is surprised when he gets Annette’s text, but in hindsight, maybe he shouldn’t be.

> **annie✨:** i need to talk to you!!!

The message arrives at ass o’clock, and because Annette is a morning person and Sylvain is not, he doesn’t immediately see it. She keeps texting him through the morning, her irritation scaling with the annoyance of her emojis. The first thing Sylvain sees when he wakes up at the actually-human time of 11:23am is a string of “😡😡😡”. 

> **me:** what can i do for u this fine morning?
> 
> **annie✨:** ugh
> 
> **annie✨:** it’s barely still morning
> 
> **annie✨:** jerk
> 
> **annie✨:** just meet me at the library at 2
> 
> **annie✨:** the conference room in the back 
> 
> **me:** ok?
> 
> **annie✨:** great! see you later

Sylvain arrives promptly, at 2:03pm, bearing fruit tea and a bag of pastries. The conference room is small, brightly lit, and cozy—it’s the perfect working space for a paired project, and it’s often booked out. Sylvain’s a little surprised Annette was able to get a hold of it at all. It’s private enough with the lights off that it’s a passable makeout spot, though Sylvain wouldn’t actually recommend it (the time slots are tight enough that people tend to start banging on the door before their turn). 

It’s _also_ , Sylvain realizes as he opens the door to a glaring ball of fury, the closest facsimile Annette could find to one of the police interrogation rooms from the crime shows on TV. All that’s missing are the ridiculous table-chained handcuffs, and he wouldn’t put it past her to have tried to make her own. She even has her phone set up to a recording app. 

“Uh. Hi, Annette? It’s good to see you?” Sylvain steps in cautiously and holds out the food as an offering. “I stopped by the boba place and the bakery on the way over?”

Annette’s scowl flickers, but only for a moment; her pout doesn’t budge and the frown pinching her eyebrows barely leaves. She sticks out her hand for her drink anyway. Peach iced tea with lychee jelly, full sugar, no ice. Sylvain honestly hadn’t stopped for drinks with the intention of buying his way into her good graces, but he hadn’t expected her to be mad either. He slinks into the empty chair and slides her the tea, leaving the bag of pastries resting on the table between them.

Annette stabs the lid with more fervor than usual, and Sylvain flinches at the impact. 

Yeah, she’s upset.

Annette takes a long, gulping sip of her tea, pauses briefly to chew her jelly, and huffs a deep sigh before promptly exploding. 

“Sylvain Gautier, you are an insensitive _meanie_ , and you need to take care of your own personal problems!” 

“I’m. Sorry?” Sylvain has no idea what she’s talking about, but it must be big. She’s been mad at him before, but never to the point staging a one-woman intervention. “What, uh, _problems_ do I need to take care of..?”

“Felix!! He’s sulking. He says it’s your fault, that you, you—you _effed_ with him for April Fools!” 

Sylvain feels his smile freeze uncomfortably on his face. Ah. That. He can’t say that he’s not getting what he deserves. But still. Shit. 

Annette rants on, full steam ahead. “He wouldn’t say what exactly, but whatever you did was _bad_. Now he just keeps pouting and it’s making me want to tear my hair out. He’s been badgering me for a new song nonstop for the last three days. I’m not his personal music box!” 

She pauses to take another drink and to growl menacingly. It’s offset by the fact, even at her angriest, Annette is basically no more threatening than a small, adorable puppy worrying its favorite chew toy. 

“I _tried_ to ask him what was wrong, but all I could get out of him was ‘ask Sylvain’ and something about ‘shi— _bad_ confessions’,” Annette says, deepening her voice to mimic Felix, “and then he went right back to asking if I’d sing for him. Ugh! Fix it before he drives me completely crazy!”

Sylvain scratches his cheek. “I’d love to, but Felix would have to talk to me first. He’s been giving me the cold shoulder the last few days.”

“So make him talk to you! It’s what you’re good at, right?” 

Sylvain can feel the smile tightening. “You know that no one can really _make_ Felix do something he doesn’t want to, and if he’s going to listen to anyone… it’s you, not me.”

“That’s not true. He listens to you, when you’re not being stupid.”

Sylvain huffs a laugh. “Is that never?”

“No! It’s when you’re not playing at being dumb!” Annette sighs and reaches for the bag of pastries. She digs through it for a moment, cataloguing Sylvain’s choices and humming approvingly, before pulling out the cinnamon roll. “You’re always joking around or pretending you’re a screw-up, but if you tried, you could be so much better than that. I know that. Mercie knows that. Heck, Felix knows it, even if he never says it.” 

“Maybe? I doubt it.” 

“Well, you’re wrong,” Annette takes a bite. “Felix thinks you’re worth his time, so if you screwed something up with him, you should make sure you talk to him and fix it. He complains about all the things you do, but he gets that dumb smile on his face too. Even if he’s not talking to you, he probably still wants to.”

Sylvain’s heart skips at a beat at the mention of Felix’s smile and he stares at his hands, trying to remember the shape of that smirk and its perfect, slight curve, but the image eludes him. All he can see is the cold, blank look Felix had given him when he’d confessed, and the way Felix had gone even colder when Sylvain had covered it up by pretending it was a joke. He’s pretty sure at this point that he might have irrevocably fucked things up and that Annette’s wrong, but maybe he’s honestly earned it.

“I’ll try, but… I don’t know. I don’t want to push him.”

“Sometimes Felix needs that push,” she says, thoughtful as she unravels the remaining piece of the roll. “He’s still not good at talking to people, but he’s trying! And whatever he’s hurt about, it’s definitely not as bad as when he used to be mean to Dimitri because he didn’t know how to tell him he was worried about him.”

Sylvain snorts. “Nothing’s that bad. Thankfully, Felix is a little more self-aware and better at talking now.” He scrubs a hand through his hair. “If he wanted to talk to me, he’d talk to me.”

After all, Felix has never had any problem telling Sylvain exactly what he thinks. There’s no reason this would be any different.

“Ugh, just talk to him,” Annette says as she eats the last of her pastry. “You just have to do your best, right? And if your best right now isn’t enough, you have to keep working at it until it is.”

Sylvain pouts. “That’s so much work.”

Annette rolls her eyes and takes another sip of her tea. “You can stop pretending to be lazy or to not care.” She dives into the bag for a napkin to wipe off the remains of the cinnamon roll. Her eyes are pleading and tired as they look up to meet his. “Please talk to him?”

“Okay, yeah. Yeah, I’ll message him again,” Sylvain relents. 

“Good. Oh! While we’re here.” Annette leans down and pulls out a bright, coral notebook decorated with stickers and covered in doodles. “We should get some studying done! This statistics practice test is really giving me trouble, and the exam is next week.”

“Annette, I’m not in your stats course. I haven’t taken any stats classes.” 

“I know, but you probably know the answers anyway.” She shakes her head fondly. “So you’re going to study with me. Besides, we’ve still got the rest of these sweets to get through!”

#### step 4a. beg for forgiveness, to no avail

Sylvain grimaces down at his phone. **_Read_ ** _6:04pm_ jeers back at him. 

He’d taken Annette’s advice and reached out to Felix, _again_ , but Sylvain had been right and she’d been wrong, because Felix had ignored him yet again. 

Sylvain barely suppresses the urge to fling his phone across the room, possibly at a wall. Instead, he backs out of his messaging app. It’s time to pull out the big guns. For the first time in what’s probably been years, Sylvain opens his phone app and hits the call button.

Unsurprisingly, he goes to voicemail after the two rings. But that’s okay, he can still work with this. 

Keep trying, Annette had said. Until your best is good enough.

“Hey, Felix. Fe. I know you’re still mad at me, and I’m—I deserve that. I shouldn’t have pulled that shit on you. I’m… I’m sorry. Really sorry. But I want us to be okay. Are we okay? Please, Fe, call me back.” Sylvain sighs. “I miss my best friend.”

It won’t ever be good enough. Not really, not as long as Felix doesn’t feel the same way he did. But their friendship is more important. Sylvain will do whatever it takes to fix it. He’s learned his lesson about letting his feelings get in the way. 

When he hangs up, the phone feels leaden in his hands.

#### step 5. make peace with the fact that you are, actually, the asshole

Mercedes peers down at Sylvain where he’s crashed on his couch. “Oh my, are you all right Sylvain?”

Sylvain hadn’t heard her come in, but he’s been up at odd hours trying to distract himself, so it’s not a surprise that he’s out of it. Mercie has a spare key anyway, and she’s welcome to stop by his apartment whenever she wants. She actually does come by more than he’d thought she would, especially now that she’s in the middle of her nursing program. Sylvain doesn’t really have anything to offer her but his company, but she always manages to make him feel like that’s enough.

“Heya, Mercie.”

“Do you mind terribly if I sit?” she asks, gesturing to where Sylvain’s feet are splayed against the faux-leather upholstery. 

Sylvain rights himself and waves to his left. “All yours.”

“Thank you.” She arrays her skirt carefully beneath as she takes her seat. “If you don’t mind me saying, you look like you’ve had a difficult week. Would you like to talk about it?”

“No. I mean, I don’t know. Maybe?”

She nods for him to continue. 

“I guess, it’s my fault. That’s what it always comes down to, right? I fuck up somehow, and then it comes right back around and bites me in the ass. I made this shitty bed, and now I have to lie in it.”

“Maybe. But if you know that the consequences are your own fault, you can make amends, can’t you?”

“Can I? I think that needs Felix to call me back. Or text me. Or just… Anything.”

Mercedes hums quietly. “Perhaps you should start at the beginning.”

Sylvain grimaces, dropping his face into his hands. “I—yeah, okay, I can do that.” He takes a slow breath to steady himself. It doesn’t work, and it comes out shaky, but he does it anyway. “I mean, you’ve known that I’ve—liked, loved, whatever you want to call it, I don’t know. I—I’ve _had feelings_ for Felix for just about forever.”

Mercedes gives him a single nod.

“Well, I’d been thinking. We’re adults now, almost, right? I’m going to graduate in a couple months, and I’m not planning on moving home, so really, it’s my time to live my own damn life for once. And that life… I want it to have Felix in it. I want _so badly_ for Felix to be in that future. Except, I can’t manage to not fuck up everything I touch or try to do. So when Felix doesn’t react when I tell him I want to date him, I take the safety valve and tell him it was an April Fools joke.” Sylvain snorts. “Turns out _I’m_ the joke.”

Mercedes doesn’t say anything, and his ugly words hang in the air. He stares into his hands, into the voids between his fingers where everything inevitably slips through, and wonders if he’ll ever be able to hold onto something properly without trying to ruin it.

A careful hand finds Sylvain’s shoulder and he looks up to meet Mercedes’s quiet frown.

“I can’t say that you’re wrong that it’s your fault that there’s trouble,” she says, and Sylvain flinches. Trust good, old Mercie to dig deep with the kindest words and to unearth all of his unseemly edges. “But it sounds like you know that it hurt Felix and that you regret what you did. That’s the first step.”

“Is there a next step?” Sylvain says wryly. “It’s kind of hard to apologize when he won’t acknowledge that I’m saying anything.”

“The next step is to know why it’s wrong so that you don’t do it again. And then to make amends.”

“I _know_ why it’s wrong. I know. I can’t just force my feelings onto Felix.”

There’s a light, quizzical tilt to Mercedes’s head as she considers his words. “I don’t know if that’s really why, but I suppose it might be hard for you to understand why you’re not correct.”

It’s Sylvain’s turn to be confused. “I mean, I’m not wrong. I… goddess, I really should have thought it through more. Felix _hates_ being forced to shape himself to other people’s ideas of him. I can’t believe I tried to do it too.”

“You… hmm.” Mercedes drops her hand to gently pat Sylvain’s knee. “Well, I’ll let you figure it out on your own.” Sylvain blinks at her. “But you know it’s wrong and that you want to make things better. That’s good enough for now.”

Mercedes reaches her hand to guide Sylvain’s head onto her shoulder, and he sinks down to slide a comfortable arm around her waist. It’s nice, like it always is when she helps him to hug her. It’s been a while since his last hug. He missed this. 

And maybe there’s a bit of _something_ pooling at the corners of his eyes, but he blinks it away.

“Is it?” Sylvain asks.

“It is. You have to work hard to fix this, and it may not be easy, but you’ll get through this.” 

Sylvain chuckles softly. “Annette said something similar.”

He can feel Mercedes’s smile against the crown of his head. “Annie’s a very smart girl.” She strokes a hand through his hair. “And if you need help connecting with Felix to apologize, I might be able to help you out there.” 

#### step 6. do it right this time, except, great, now you owe glenn

“I’m not doing this for you,” is the first thing Glenn says to Sylvain after he opens the door. Sylvain still doesn’t know how he manages to be so menacing at the grand height of slightly-shorter-than-Felix, but whatever it is, it’s very effective at making Sylvain feel 2 inches tall despite very much having to look down to meet Glenn’s eyes. 

“Good to see you too, Glenn?”

Sylvain doesn’t actually fully know why he’s here. Mercie had texted him in the morning to be at Felix’s place at 4pm, sharp, and when Mercedes says to do something, you listen, so here he is, standing in their entryway being glared at by Glenn. Mercedes is one of the kindest and most understanding souls that Sylvain knows, but also one of the most devious and terrifying. He’s just glad he’s not on her bad side.

The same, unfortunately, can’t be said about his relationship with the Fraldarius in front of him. Or possibly all Fraldariuses. Felix hasn’t spoken to him in ten days now, and Sylvain’s starting to wonder if he’s really, truly fucked up their friendship for good. 

Glenn rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Follow me.”

He doesn’t say anything else as he leads. Sylvain still doesn’t know where this is going or why it’s necessary—he knows the Fraldarius home almost as well as his own, he doesn’t need Glenn as a guide. 

Glenn leads him to Felix’s room and points at the desk chair. “Sit.”

“Why am I here?” Sylvain asks, uncertain, but his actions belie his words and he dutifully takes a seat. 

“Just wait here. Don’t move.” Glenn turns and leaves, closing the door behind him. 

Sylvain stares, uncomprehending, at the artfully-stained mahogany. Glenn’s always been taciturn, but sometimes Sylvain can’t tell if he just doesn’t like talking or if he’s being purposely difficult to screw with Sylvain. He’s _fairly_ certain Glenn is messing with him, and if Glenn has any idea of the fact that Felix is currently mad at Sylvain, there’s no doubt that he’s doing it out of spite. Sylvain’s always been a little jealous of how well the Fraldarius brothers get along and how seriously Glenn takes protecting Felix. 

Luckily, whatever it is he’s supposed to wait for doesn’t take that long, and he sits up as the doorknob turns. 

Felix is still talking over his shoulder to Glenn as he walks in, so he doesn’t immediately spot Sylvain. Which is great, because Sylvain gets to stare at Felix’s profile, but also not great, because dread gets to build in his gut as he waits for Felix to turn and then maybe murder him. 

Felix does eventually turn, and he freezes when he spots Sylvain. Sylvain brings up a hand to wave a wilting hello as he smiles something that’s more grimace than grin. 

“H-hey, Felix. Long time no see.”

“…Sylvain.”

Sylvain spots Glenn over Felix’s shoulder for a brief moment before Felix is suddenly shoved in the room and the door pulled closed behind him. The scraping click of a lock turning sounds, and through the wood, there’s a muffled call of “I’m blocking the door until you two figure it out,” followed by retreating footsteps.

Felix immediately (predictably, as if on instinct) tests the doorknob and, as promised, it doesn’t budge. He’s probably never really thought anything of that time Rodrigue got it in his head to change all the locks in his home and then installed Felix’s backward. At least not until today. Sylvain doesn’t know if he should be grateful or scared.

Felix gives it up as a bad job. Which, fair. Then he rounds on Sylvain and growls. And, yep, moderately terrifying. “What are you doing here.”

“Hey! I didn’t know this was happening either. Mercie just told me to be here at this time and then Glenn put me in here.”

Felix snorts. “Yeah, okay. Whatever. Pretend you don’t know this is my room.”

“I mean, I do know this is your room, but I didn’t know they were going to lock us in together. But,” Sylvain sighs, “I’m sorry to give you something else to be mad about. I swear I didn’t know.”

Felix sinks onto his bed and flops back. “Fine.”

“But since we’re here… Can we talk?”

Felix waves a hand and grunts. It’s probably not a no.

“I—I’m sorry. I’ll start there. I know I fucked up the last time we hung out, and I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

Sylvain isn’t sure if Felix mutters, “you never do,” but he valiantly ignores the interruption and soldiers on anyway.

“I didn’t mean to try to play a shitty prank. Hell, it wasn’t even supposed to be a prank. I’m sorry I tried to—to _force_ my feelings onto you, Fe. You don’t deserve that.” Sylvain breathes out shakily. “Maybe I was—”

Felix sits bolt upright, and he stares critically at Sylvain across the small space between the desk and bed. “Say that again.”

“I’m sorry?”

“After that.”

Sylvain tries to recall his words. “I shouldn’t have tried to prank you?”

“ _After_ that.”

“I shouldn’t have—” Sylvain stops, flushing. “Felix, I know I was an asshole, but please don’t screw with me,” he says in a horrified whisper.

“Say it,” Felix insists. 

Sylvain swallows. “I’m… I’m _sorry_ I tried to force my feelings onto you, I’m _sorry_ for doing it in such an obtuse, terrible way, I’m _sorry_ for—for not being the friend you need. I don’t know, there’s a lot I should apologize for, but…” Sylvain’s heart jumps to his throat. He drops his eyes to his hands and stares, unseeing, at his fingernails. “But. I’m not going to apologize for being in love with you. I won’t apologize for that.”

It’s quiet when he finishes speaking. The silence only adds to his mortification. Sylvain’s heart pounds, unrelenting, against his chest and in his mind, the rush of blood drowning out all thoughts but the one screaming that he’s gone a leap too far. He doesn’t dare raise his head.

Finally, Felix speaks. “Fuck you.”

The stone sinks into the pit of Sylvain’s stomach. Yeah, this is what he deserves. This was always going to be the result of his eternally unblooming attempts at romance.

“Fuck you,” Felix repeats and jumps forward to grab Sylvain by the shirt. Unbidden, Sylvain’s eyes lock onto his. They’re wide, a little wet, shining like molten gold. 

“Fe—” Sylvain starts to say, but then Felix’s mouth crashes into his.

Sylvain can feel all the neurons in his body grind to a simultaneous halt. Sylvain.exe has crashed. The mental blue screen of death lasts for an age and a half as Felix’s lips move against his, and he stalls, unable to find the right pathways to kiss back. His brain finally starts to boot back up when Felix pulls back, and Sylvain lets out a low whine.

“Fuck you,” Felix says for a third time, now slightly breathless. “Fuck… fuck you for making me think that you were just fucking with my emotions, fuck you for making me feel this _much_ , fuck you for thinking that you could _ever_ force your feelings onto me.”

He’s not sure he heard right, that Felix is really saying these things and it’s not that he’s passed out and just hallucinating the kindest version of what Felix might say. But Felix is looking up at him, face blotchy and red and just the faintest hint of teary, the most beautiful vision that Sylvain’s ever seen, and he hopes that if this is just a dream, he never wakes up.

Sylvain brings up a hand to trace the angry scrunch of Felix’s eyebrows and the brilliant color in his cheeks, tangible and warm and real. It’s only with a little bit of trepidation that he pushes himself to his feet and brings one hand to rest at the back of Felix’s neck and the other at the small of his back. They’re hovering, so close their eyelashes could overlap. Felix’s breath fans in small puffs over his face. 

They’re creeping along the edge of a liminal space, two steps too far to go back to the friendship they had before and not quite at the boundary to take a leap into love. Every last fiber of Sylvain’s being screams to make the jump, but he can’t do it without Felix, so he waits.

“I meant it the first time. Even when I pretended I didn’t. I like you, Felix. I love you.” Sylvain sighs, small and contented. “I love you.”

Felix’s eyes drop to Sylvain's lips. “I thought… I thought the impossible had happened, and then it _was_ impossible. You pulled out the hope from under my feet.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“So you’ve said.” Felix closes his eyes. “Don’t do it again.”

“I won’t.”

“Promise,” he says, demanding.

“I promise,” says Sylvain. 

Felix inhales sharply, then sighs. “I… I _like_ you too.”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.” 

There’s gorgeous high color blossoming all across Felix’s face and neck. Sylvain holds himself back from leaning in to devour it all.

He smiles, serene. He probably looks like a besotted fool. Well, he _is_ a besotted fool, so that's okay.

“Shut up,” Felix says again, muttering to no one in particular. He wraps his arms around Sylvain’s neck to pull him down into another kiss.

It’s quiet again, now, but it’s not cold, not like before, and the warmth of finding home spreads and spreads, filling Sylvain to the brim, as they take the chance to cross together over the boundary of their friendship and into something more.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on twitter [@euphemeas](https://twitter.com/euphemeas)!


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